


To Raise a Servant

by bluegrass



Series: Just Some Prompts [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, BAMF Harry Potter, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Grey Harry Potter, Loyal Harry Potter, M/M, Magic-Users, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Manipulation, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Prince Tom Riddle, Sane Tom Riddle, Servant Harry Potter, Tumblr Prompt, Voldemort is a Female Horse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-06-27 01:52:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19780816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegrass/pseuds/bluegrass
Summary: Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain.He figured he'd always wanted a pet snake.





	1. a meeting in rain

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a prompt I found on Tumblr. I won't be revealing it until I get to the part though. It'll spoil a lot. The person who posted the prompt will be credited, cause I'm 60% sure I wrote it down somewhere. If not, I'll be troubling you gaiz to find them.

Winter was ending – each day, kilograms of dirtied snow on the palace’s floor would fade into clear water muddied by the earth from the soles of a servant’s shoes. It was a reminder of the cold season that, too, washed away with the sweep of a horse-tail broom.

The royal stables weren’t far from the meeting hall in which Tom had been summoned to. Wrapped in a thick coat lined with feather soft fur, the illegitimate prince had left the doors with a barely discernible frown on his face.

Father was never nearly as pleased with him as he would with another noble’s child. The thought in itself grated on his nerves, and Tom felt anger sludge over his crystal-clear pride.

The king had no right to criticize in which ways he handled his prisoners. In the end, he got the job done, hadn’t he? Tom could only scoff as he saw the servant behind him cower with familiar terror towards his person. The big-eared sod was trembling down to his trousers.

_ Coward _ , Tom sneered, but the disdain dropped like gravity exerted threefold when a flash of his past worked against him.  _ You’ve once been in his shoes,  _ the story concluded like a play well done.  _ Have you not? _

Considering the fact that it wasn’t incorrect, Tom felt the starting simmers of anger boil. Compared to time wherein he’d mucked about in the slums years ago, perhaps he'd become compliant and spoiled with luxury. It was a disgusting thought.

Dragon-hide boots thumping behind him, the prince angrily strode across the wide corridors. It was in a moment of uncharacteristic impulse that the crimson eyed prince decided to take a stroll down town on his reliable steed to ease his temper.

There was little better than the expressions of the people who’d condemned him as a whore’s son from where he originally stayed. Tom could claim to live to devour their reactions.

He wanted those slovenly men and cruel-mouthed women to understand that he had power now. They’d not make the mistake to talk down or abuse him again – because look at him now, full of wealth and riches and power. The only thing he lacked in his hands was the Kingdom of Slytherin, and that was a task underway.

Tom would have them snivel by his feet like the wretched animals they were. He planned to smile while watching the regret fill their eyes from what they did to him when he was nothing more than an underfed boy with a whore and witch apparent as a mother.

Even though the woman certainly did die shortly after his birth, being stamped as an orphan did nothing to tickle any sense of sympathy from anyone. Not with an attitude like Tom’s, who held his pride and unparalleled intelligence like a sword.

Shield? Not so much. Bastards like them didn’t deserve it, agreed every swine in that horrible town.

It had been since his arrival at the palace had he last went down to the thrice-damned place. Petty as it sounded, Tom wanted to at least have a stable position among the upper-tiers before he crushed the vermin because contrary to popular beliefs, being royalty weren’t all rainbows and unicorns.

Kings and Queens, princes and princesses, have all died with their eyes wide open in the comforts of their palaces one way or another.

“Ready Voldemort,” Tom curtly informed the servant trailing behind him, with a stealth not unlike a mouse’s. Similarly, he scampered away as frantically as one. The fabrics of his clothes caught pouches of air as he ran in the direction of the stables.

Voldemort was a large, temperamental thing that allowed no one but Tom could mount for either a ride or a hunt’s pleasure. She - and didn’t that bring quite the commotion to the palace - had refused fate as a breeding mare despite her excellent genes.

Kicking and stomping wildly, she was even unafraid to use her teeth to bite at the stallion she’d been paired with, Tom fell for her rather quickly.

His advisors cautioned him against Voldemort often, something about risking his reputation by having a female  _ horse _ as his main choice of transport. They even dared to ramble on how the females were fundamentally weaker than the males, and that they served no better than for meat and to birth foals till they died.

Tom didn’t care, he told the half-wit advisors off. Hexing them with hexes of eternal inconveniences just because he could and let the advice die where it stood. if Voldemort showed no signs of desiring any foals, he’d make damn sure she wouldn’t be getting any.

The mare was normally left to roam within Tom’s palace’s grounds without a leash or handler. She instinctively knew not to leave the palace grounds and to return to her stable by evening, so Tom un-worryingly let her wander about.

The down side of such was that it’d taken quite a while for anyone to find the wayward horse. It made fine entertainment watching the servants run like headless chickens to find Voldemort for Tom.

They didn’t know that he’d trained the prideful thing to come when called already. The silver whistle stringed around his neck felt cold through his underclothes. Smirking smugly, Tom offered a baby carrot and a pat on her speckled ash fur before the two left through grand open gates.

* * *

Tom had found the boy amidst pouring rain.

He was soaked to the bones, hair matted worse than a dog’s in the streets. Grime slathered across his terribly skinny splayed arms and legs. He made quite the sight, sitting brokenly by the side of an uncanny alleyway. Tom hummed, patting Voldemort’s neck.

Umbrella rested on his shoulder, Tom unsaddled from his ride, boots causing a forming puddle to splatter. The horse’s ears flickered flat ever so often in irritation. Voldemort should be grateful Tom  _ had _ an animal’s coat packed up, else the spoiled thing would be freezing to death by now.

As he got closer, it was only by the mercy of the bone-piercing downpour did Tom have the opportunity to spot the alabaster skin underneath. Even then, most of the skin clinging on to the boy’s protruding bones was badly scarred, if not recently bruised.

_ A discarded pet left to die from the elements. _

In his own twisted way, Tom admired how the boy resembled the snakes he so adored. How can he not? For while the pheasant child’s body had shivered strongly in his presence (or the winter’s), he still had the strength to look up and not flee like the usual street urchins. Tom coveted the pair of stunning eyes that looked aglow.

Not to mention the mock scales in which were scattered in mottled patterns of abstract lilac and the chartreuse green of rotting leaves. An urge to pick the sorry thing up suddenly occurred to the prince – perhaps it was the cautious defiance in the boy’s eyes; body all curled up, ready to strike, while his face betrayed nothing. An interesting morph, truly. 

Voldemort chortled, a puff of air leaving her mouth and nostrils. Well, no one was stopping him. The prince ran a gloved hand through his flattened hair. “You’re mine now.” He stated, leaving no space to respond otherwise. The boy’s lips parted, a raspy croak leaving his throat. “Uh… Ah…”

Tom figured he’d always wanted a pet snake of his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort's a horse with a uterus I dare you to fight me otherwise. What about Nagini? you ask. Well, she ain't a horse if that's what you're wondering. uwu


	2. a chase of the unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy reading everyone! I'll get to their ages in the next chapter. I'm terrible at romance - heads up - so don't expect this to revolve around that. It's more of their interaction/relationship(?) I guess. I don't know man.

Little over two months had passed since he picked the little thing up. The prince was only displeased once throughout the entire time, though Hadrian was not truly at fault for it either. Magic was fickle like that, what more could he say?

The memory in itself was frightening: Tom was angry, yet not homicidal like the other servants initially feared. An unrestful spirit must’ve possessed him those couple of months ago, for he’d tended to the boy himself, somehow obtaining a shadow who refused to leave his side under the threat of death.

He was named Hadrian while he rested in Tom’s bed for the next countless nights. Both Healers and doctors came and went through the palace’s back doors to heal the boy whose name went unknown. Father would be the last to know of this, Tom wasn’t ready for a needless reprimand yet.

Hadrian’s windpipe had apparently been damaged from too much applied force, causing his voice to grow useless. The culprits were easy enough to guess – Hadrian’s former owners would be found and investigated.

Tom hadn’t a clue on what to do after he gave the order. Although while he chanced upon the scene of the child staring at him unabashedly, the prince may have gained an idea. “Finish your meal, silly brat,” he ordered firmly, and Hadrian shook his head, gaze unblinking. Tom rose from his chair, temper surprisingly mild. He walked to the left, and the child’s stare followed; he moved to the right, and the result was the same.

It followed him to his personal bathroom, piercing through the Rune-drawn doors. Slytherin Deity help him, Tom cursed. Was the boy’s magic seeping in from the walls? He got his answer fairly quickly – dark mana started to clump by his feet resting on the bath tub’s edge, forming an eye with a familiar emerald iris.

“Cease this nonsense immediately!” the prince scolded sternly, buck naked and wet. He knew that the boy could hear. The eye dissipated quickly, scattering its lightless dust into the hot water’s steam.  _ Interesting _ , a clinical part of Tom analysed. Dark attributed mages were rare, ones talented without any conduct more so.

Appearance otherwise, clearly the boy wasn’t completely useless. Tom prided himself to be a practical man and it’d be a sinful waste to just… neglect unharvested talent offered on a silver platter.

Right.  _ Let’s not think about the social repercussions of the common blood he brought back, yes? _ The prince wiped himself down, donning a finely sewn bathrobe. It was forest green in colour, silver snakes embroiled at the hems of the robe; a delicate stitching of Slytherin’s emblem on the top left breast.

He entered his sleeping chambers to see Hadrian’s dish cleaned spotless. Tom nodded, pleased that the boy knew better than the earlier disgrace. Said child was seated upright in bed, fingers clenched tightly on the thick comforter that he pulled up to his chin. Somehow, Tom knew that the kid’s facial muscles hadn’t twitched a bit, but the pair of expressive eyes said everything. Hadrian was afraid.

Guilty.

Apologetic.

Tom put the bowl away, leaving it on the crystal moving trolley outside his quarters.

_ Good _ , because the child ought to be. “Have you no belief that as easily as I’ve brought you in, I can throw you back out again?”

The emerald-eyed child shook his head of fluffy black hair, an unblinking darkness imitating the deep drop of his mana’s depth. The soft curls at the tip bounced and Tom reconsidered the boy’s title from snake to dog. “You’ll do nothing of the sort again. Else you wish to be discarded from my palace.”

“A-Ah… Guh…” Hadrian tried to speak, evidently failing. Frame curling, his fingers trembled, releasing his grip on the comforter. Tom had an inkling on what the boy might’ve wanted to say. It didn’t stop him from throwing an indifferent glance anyway.

Turning his head towards the paperwork that grew with a life of its own, he then decided to ignore the pitiful sight. Tom’s cruelty lasted for exactly a minute and a half, wherein Hadrian had not ceased to stop trying to use a lost voice.

His chamber’s lamp stones flickered, a dark glow filling them instead of the usual silver light.  _ Accidental magic based off intent? How peculiar. What a talent I’ve found. The Salazar Mage’s Courts would’ve overturned their precious towers for the child. _

The back cushion of the office chair was rather soul-soothing when he leaned back. Tom sighed into the pinch of his finger. “My word is your law, Hadrian,” he drawled. “You will serve me and me only for I am your lord and king. Have a handle on your magic by the next full moon – I expect nothing less from anyone under my wing. I’ll teach you to read and lend you some books. Now have your medicine, I care little of the bitterness.”

Beaming, the mana stones on the walls had turned into tiny abysses of each their own. They may explode soon at this rate. The mana in the air would prove too much for the magical lamps to handle. Tom clicked an exasperated finger on the working table and the magic immediately settled back into its original silver glow.

Hadrian cheered, using his eyes and a soft smile alone. Wonder and curious astonishment came aflame in his bandaged (literally) expression too.  _ So this is magic?  _ I  _ did this?  _ It spoke wordlessly _. It’s beautiful! _

Admittedly, one could only be aggravated by a child for so long. As Hadrian was technically a secret, Tom managed most of his needs. This included everything from food to clothing, his medical needs, and even hygiene! Bathing the child who could barely support himself had been so  _ awkward _ .

He’s grown to be quite the independent character, Tom wistfully lamented. Everyone else was simply far too incompetent or untrustworthy for something like this. Absently, Tom’s thoughts had even reached as far as 9 years into the future. He’ll have something forged out so that Hadrian may receive servant training and a noble’s education.

The prince planned for the boy to go to Hogwarts Academy one day. He had spies in every kingdom save the institution right in the centre of all four kingdoms. It was also an established neutral ground, where no one truly  _ trustworthy _ worked.

Severus was no doubt capable, but apprenticed in Alchemy and Apothecary, for Merlin’s sake – where professors and students alike worked where the sun’s only blessed once in a blue moon. Honoured student or no, the man couldn’t actually be everywhere, contrary to what several terrified scholars believed.

Therefore, Hadrian  _ should _ make a fine knight on the chess board. He expected the child to be half as good at socialising as Tom if need be in the future. A fine duellist and information gatherer, loyal servant to Prince Tom Marvolo Slytherin as well. Hadrian will be everything for his king.

(He didn’t know how true that’ll be when he’d gleefully schemed all those years ago.)

“Roll over,” Tom said rather uncouthly. He lifted up the covers, smirking at the slight shudder Hadrian showcased when the warmth disappeared. Tom gave a half smile when he heard the complaining whine. No harm being a little rude for the boy was simply a child still – one that he saved, no less. Additionally, he’d also prefer to make things a whole lot easier for him by not hiding anything from the start.

It gave Hadrian less expectations on how a prince ought to act, really. Because Tom personally believed he needed to hear less of that shite in all honesty. One could only act as if they had a stick shoved up their privileged bottoms for so long before it got tiring. Not that Tom knew he was any less if his acting strayed a bit from the usual; his self-esteem was far more anchored than that.

The prince easily slipped in, turning to lie on his side. Slides of thoughts rushing in, he wondered if true peace would ever come one night. Privately, he wasn’t afraid to admit that worries plagued him often.

Tom needed to survive, see. He needed to outlive the other noble’s children who carried poison daggers like they were tucked safely in their throats; he needed to outlive nearly  _ everyone _ before his brothers and sisters set Death’s dog upon him like their father’s mother. The Bitch loved her plots nearly as much as Tom loved dismantling them.

Voldemort was his first means of assurance, a flight from death (murder). Hadrian would be his fifth, he supposed. Much had changed throughout the years, Tom wasn’t as powerless as he had been.

The prince’s mind ran, sound thunderous and almost painful. It jerked and turned and spun, a speeding train on an uncompleted route to nowhere. Yet amidst the never-ending noise, Hadrian sniffled without worry, habitually tucking his inky head beneath Tom’s chin. It had been like that since the third night of his stay, whereupon Hadrian eventually revealed himself to be a fearless thief of body warmth.

Human touch normally repulsed him. But if it was his pet, Tom should be fine… right?


	3. a touch of newness

The last month of spring offered its benefits when Tom woke to the sound of pleasantly tittering birds that refused to make home during the winters. Additionally, a decent weather that didn’t make his feet feel as if he’d just trekked through mountainous terrain; iced by frigid winds and an impossible amount of snow.

“Your Royal Highness,” a maid-servant said as she knocked politely.

Tom dismissed her with a simple show of Magic; the sound of muffled knocks returning in echo, informing her of his awakening. You may leave, it implied, and the woman wordlessly bowed, leaving a trolley of strong tea that would be preserved with runes of heating.

From years of practice, the prince easily willed opened the door, dragging the trolley inside and bringing it next to his bedside to stare, yet making no move to reach for it. Tom swallowed, testing the dryness of his throat.

He turned to look outside instead.

Through the unbarred window, Tom took the time to enjoy the view of several soft shades of pink and orange and blue melding into one enchanting canvas. The hands of the clock perched on his bed-side desk indicated 4 minutes before the decorative cockerel outside crowed.

There was still time before he became a prince.

The silver construct ticked quietly –  _ 2 minutes left _ . Glancing downwards, an indecipherable expression stapled itself on Tom’s face. 

He would allow the boy to continue dreaming in relative peace for a while longer. 

Soundless mumbles of incomprehensible languages left Hadrian’s mouth as a pair of skinny arms wrapped around his waist.

_ Another morning,  _ Tom’s brain smugly provided within the almost-daze.  _ Obviously _ , another part of him scoffed. The ritual was important nonetheless, unappreciated by the common folk because for him, every day was a feat worth celebrating over. A battle won from a war left unending.

He’s survived yet another night in merit of his own wits. And pray for the achievement to last for the rest of his mortal lifespan, Tom could wish for nothing more in this life.

“Up.” He tapped Hadrian’s cheek when the morning fowl’s shrieking was forcefully interrupted by the servant boys outside before it became nerve-grating. Tom heard the bird choke violently, but didn’t twitch a muscle. Everyone in his palace knew to let it cry twice: no more, no less, else the prince would have them by their toes. 

Sanity, more like, because the punishment of feeding Voldemort instilled more fear than one ‘female’ horse ought to. The beloved mount utterly despised humanity as a whole, so they were doing Merlin’s work by preserving their own life first – some argued, pride be damned. And until today the bunch stood to be corrected.

Hadrian opened his eyes blearily, rubbing his face into Tom’s lower back when the prince readied to leave the bed. In a fit of childishness befitting his age, he kicked the covers off and let out a complaining grunt. His hair stuck out in many spikes which the prince absently patted down without any sense of success. Certainly, he’d tame that abomination before he ascended upon the throne – Slytherin Deity grant him Their blessings. 

_ ‘Pleasant mornings,’  _ Hadrian slurred, the royal language of the serpents sounding more at home and fluent on his tongue than any of Tom’s royal siblings could ever attempt.

Although silently stoic, Tom’s heart clenched with pride. His newest project was far more talented than he expected, but alas, it would be even better if the boy  _ tried  _ to speak in the Common-tongue from here on out. No one, save the Royal family, were entitled to the privilege of Parseltongue and Hadrian was walking a rather fine grey line for treason. 

If it wasn’t clear enough, the boy might as well be waltzing on the black line, mind you.

At least he got his ABCs – upper-lower casing and basic pronunciation included – in two days and his numbers in one and a half.

There was hope still, Tom only needed to stomp the stubborn muteness out of Hadrian before any damage was inflicted on to his reputation. So far, the task proved particularly arduous. In any case, both were out of bed within the time frame of a half a burning candle’s wick. 

Time slinked by like this. Normative and somewhat bland. Tolerable if only due to his newest source of responsibility. Hadrian was stuck resting under Tom’s care for little over two months and for the following month, the child was taught how to behave semi-decently outside the tiny world of his Master’s bedroom.

By Summer, Hadrian wandered sparingly around the palace basked in unforgiving heat. 

Through reports by subjects Tom had arranged throughout his home, Hadrian had yet to utter a single word of the Common-tongue, preferring to bow or nod in greeting of the other servants; sign language wasn’t off the table either, though enacted particularly crudely as he’d yet to learn the official signs. 

Barring Tom, Hadrian was naturally weary when meeting new people, but not outwardly unfriendly enough to shy away from any kind of social interaction. 

The maids adored the young boy who garnered a woman’s maternal instinct like nobody else.  _ Such a poor dear _ , they loved to squeal in excited delight. But Hadrian quickly learned his way around because of their help, saving Tom the effort of leaving his office in search of the tiny thing. 

For something so small, he sure knew how to run like his life depended on escaping the men he’d ordered to drag him back - when it really shouldn’t. “Are you a cockroach?” he asked within the privacy of his room after dinner. 

_ ‘They aren’t you,”  _ Hadrian hissed, tone strained and upset. _ ‘What if they took me away?’ _

“To where, pray tell.”

_ ‘Away from you. When I am a freak who nobody wants.’ _

A little forlorn. A little warm. They slept a little earlier than usual, dark grey wisps of Magic weaving across the silk blankets.

* * *

Tom quirked his lips inconspicuously when the child once came back in a white apron tied along the trademark pleated skirt, looking especially aggrieved.

Knocking frantically, he had barged in on record time after the prince’s languid consent. Tiny fists clenched and clung to his pant leg whereupon Tom had been reading small lettered documents standing by the window, taking time to let some blood back into his legs. 

“Two hours early for our lessons. Only half an hour since I last saw you,” he told the boy, sighing downwards while shaking his head in well hidden amusement. Hadrian did not answer in favour of keeping his flaming face buried. His Royal Highness’s hip was hard and bony, yet no place felt safer. 

They started class early in the end. 

Ever since Hadrian had demonstrated immense potential, Tom personally squeezed out several slots in his schedule to partake tutoring him, unwilling to let other tutors influence Hadrian with their biased views and possibly censored content. The material Hadrian learned was harshly unfiltered that if Tom weren’t a prince, the consequences would be unfathomable. All the good, the bad, and the ugly fed to Hadrian’s sponge-like mind which he used effortlessly. 

The prince did not even bother to justify himself when providing accounts of his morally dubious actions throughout the years. Hadrian didn’t seem to mind anyway, loyalty more solid than dragon scale. 

History, politics, mathematics, language, science, astrology. Hadrian ate the mundane subjects up unsparingly. Yet, if one used hunger as a comparison to the rate Hadrian ate up material knowledge, the emerald-eyed boy was spellbindingly ravenous, a starving beast when it came to anything related to Magic.

Amidst the endless fall of angel white feathers, the sight of piercing gold eyes stood out like bloodied snow. “You cannot keep your summons here,” the prince patiently informed.

_ ‘Why not?’ _

“Why must you question me so?”

_ ‘Because I want to know. But if I really can’t, then I won’t keep her.’ _

“She will still be yours. You’re simply returning her back from whence she came. Summon her back someplace else tomorrow, but always remember to send her home. They have no love for chains that bind.” And Hedwig, the S Ranked Owl Ice Spirit, was soon gone in thick smoke as dark as night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked how old Tom is. About... 23 - 24? Harry is about 6 - 7. Humans w/ Magic have longer lifespans than those who don't.
> 
> (Ahhh I'm seriously reconsidering the romance, even though I _know_ it's a secondary focus in this work. Just - I don't like the numbers... And I'm also pretty shit the love thing tbh. On a separate note, once the gap's like 400 years+, people just... ignore it? Or maybe that's just me.)

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave a Kudos and comment if you enjoyed this! I don't have a Beta, so mistakes will be corrected in due time.


End file.
